Bookends
by lyredenfers
Summary: [One-shot] Sir Owen of Jesslaw & Lady Teresa of Cavall. Set after Lady Knight. Fiddle eye free.


She'd been avoiding him for three days now. Well, not avoiding, not really. Whenever he looked up, he would see her grey eyes hastily retreat behind a book. Whenever he turned a corner, he'd see her small figure moving the other way. He felt her eyes on him, yet he felt utterly alone. He was tired of these cat and mouse games and not knowing which role he was supposed to be playing. So that night, he cornered her.

"Lady Teresa."

She nodded at him and the shield went back up, another book blocking his face from hers.

He sighed, "Am I really that ugly?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes flitted to his face, then back to her book. At least he knew he had her attention; it was the first time she'd spoken to him directly since he'd come to stay at Cavall.

He indicated the scar on his face. "Neal tried to warn me, but I thought it'd impress the ladies. I was obviously mistaken- you can't even bring yourself to look at me."

"Squire Owen," began Teresa.

"Sir," he interrupted quietly, "actually."

The book snapped back into place.

Mistake number one, he reflected idly, or was that eighty-one? He leaned against the doorframe and waited. He could wait. And so could she, apparently. He stood, and she read- although she didn't turn a single page. Not once, in over four hours. Owen felt they were frozen in time until Lord Wyldon arrived, and sent them both to bed. Separately, of course.

The next night, she was sewing when he found her. Vicious little stitches, deceptively straight and even. She wouldn't look up. He tried anyways.

"Good evening, Lady Teresa."

The responses he half expected ("You call it good, Sir Owen?" or even, "Leave me alone, you pathetic excuse for a knight") never came.

The young knight sat next to her on the window seat and Teresa flinched, inching as far away as she could with out falling off the seat. She never looked at him.

Well, Owen reflected on their previous encounter, silence hadn't worked. So he would try talking.

"I hear you've had marriage offers."

Teresa's fingers tightened on the needle and her stitches became tinier. _Stab_, went the needle, _stab, stab._

Okay, so maybe he had been a little tactless. Come to think of it, "Someone extremely reliable once told me that I was a 'hopeless bloody minded savage, with less manners than a spidren and no more tact than a hungry goat.' Upon reflection, they were right."

Before she could stop herself, Teresa retorted, "Come now Sir Owen, that hardly seems fair on the goat."

Owen grinned and Teresa let out a small laugh; not a giggle, the way Owen remembered, but a full laugh.

"I was only quoting you, My Lady," he protested.

All traces of humour left Teresa's face and Owen kicked himself inwardly. But now that she had started, she couldn't stop talking. Not after being silent so long. Not for someone who relied on speech and mindless banter as much as they did on water.

"What right, Sir Owen, do you have to come here and inquire about my marriage offers? What right, Sir Owen, do you have to quote my girlish recklessness? And most of all Sir Owen, what right do you have to make me laugh?"

Owen blinked. "At one time," he began slowly, "you called me a friend."

"A _friend,_ Sir Owen?" _Stab, stab._

He nodded, eyeing her wearily. He hoped Teresa wasn't imagining the cloth as his head, or any other part of his body, for that matter. That would be bad, very bad.

"Friends, Sir Owen, do not vanish into thin air for eight months. Friends, send letters."

Ah, so _that's_ what this was about.

She stabbed accusingly.

"I never thought—"

"That, Squire," she faltered, "Sir Owen, is very obvious. You never thought that I might want to know how my _friend_ was doing after being declared missing in the war? After having disappeared on a treasonous rescue mission? Before facing his Ordeal? I clearly remember having sent my best wishes. I'm not mistaken am I, Sir Owen?"

His face fell. "I would have thought my Lord- your father- would have said something. Passed along a message?"

Teresa's raised eyebrows and pursed lips clearly told him what she thought of this. "That's hardly enough, Sir Owen."

He studied his hands before looking her in the eye, "I'm _sorry, _Teresa."

She sniffed haughtily and returned to her sewing, ignoring all of Owen's attempts at conversation.

Owen knew Teresa and he knew she had a stubborn streak. She'd inhereted it from her father, naturally. Famed for taking on tasks bigger than himself and tackling them till they were bite-sized, Owen did what he'd never before done; he gave up.

He talked briefly with Lord Wyldon and decided to return to the front for a new post. They both agreed it was the best course of action; of course they didn't agree on Owen's reasons.

A few hours before he was set to leave, Teresa found him in the stables. She was carrying something.

"Well, this is pathetic."

Owen was in no mood for another verbal lashing. "My Lady?"

"A grown knight sitting by himself in his knight-master's stable."

"It was Happy's stall," he stated briefly, naming his gelding killed on what had been dubbed the "wretched-trek-into-enemy-territory-to-save-the-children-and-Kel-from-a-most-certain-death". Well, that's what Sir Nealan of Queenscove called it anyways. Most of them didn't refer to it at all.

"I know," said Teresa as she sat down in the dirt and hay alongside Owen. "And I'm sorry."

Owen gave her a tight smile and tilted his head, considering. "What brought on this change of heart?"

She paused. "Father said you're returning to the border."

Owen nodded.

"Well, here." She thrust a package at him and motioned for him to open it.

He did as he was bid; there were a least fifty sheets of parchment, the same numbered of pre-addressed envelopes, four quills and two pots of ink.

Owen stared at Teresa with a mix of bewilderment and amusement.

Teresa stared back threateningly. "And make sure you use them."

Owen grinned before asking hesitantly, "about those marriage proposals…"

Teresa shook her head. "Father turned them down."

"Good."

"Is it?"

Owen nodded vigourously before standing and helping Teresa to her feet.

"Do you mind if we return to the manor, I do believe I have something else to discuss with your father before I leave."

"What ever would that be, Sir Owen?"

"If you don't mind me saying, that's none of your business, Lady Teresa."

"I do mind, and are you sure it's none of my business?"

"Most sure."

"Oh. But if it should happen to become my business, you would tell me right away, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, my Lady."

"Good."

"Good."

"Good."

* * *

Author's Note:

grins- Okay, so this is the first thing I've posted at that I'm completely happy with (or as close as I'm a gonna get, anyways). Spread the news- Owen Love is here to stay!

Big hugs for Sally, my satisfied (finally) beta. You're wonderful, even if you suck at naming things...

ta!


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